Your Obedient Servant
by emmydenielle
Summary: Erik Laurent: CIA agent. Christine Daae: CIA analyst. When a cold case murderer ignites and brings the two together, nothing will ever be the same. Suspense, drama, and a mystery spanning a decade clash in a modern non-retelling exploring the characters and what they do best. First fanfiction attempt, criticism greatly appreciated. Enjoy. -Em
1. Chapter 1: In Cold Blood

Erik's POV

It was no use.

The smoldering remains of the seemingly insignificant suburban house yielded no immediate clues as to its demise or the demise of the alleged arson victim. I stepped out of the SUV with as placid an expression as I could manage and tried to deflect the wails of sirens and the throbbing lights that seemed harsh in the early morning light. The local police force was desperately trying to section off the area from the on looking crowds, concerned as to what may have caused their neighbor's death. Almost immediately, a stalky, pasty, balding man stumbled up to me with a flustered appearance, and without a second glance I knew this must have been the chief of police, and to that end he began to bombard me with questions.

"What do you think you are doing? This is my crime scene, and this is a closed investigation! Who are you? Who is your supervisor? Sir, I'll need you to get off the premises immediately!" he blurted out; blissfully unaware of the nature of with whom he was speaking. It was only after he prattled off his speech that he took in the appearance of the man before him. Sure, my demeanor was one of intimidation, but combined with the full face mask? It was enough to make a grown man run, and it had before.

With my grip still on the car door, I slammed it roughly enough for the officer to flinch and reached into my pocket, grabbing the badge and holding it at arm's length for the blustery man to see.

"My name is Laurent. I am with the CIA," I explained, throwing a bit of arrogance into my voice for full effect. The officer paled.

"Th-the CIA?" he gulped. "I was told that this was a p-private—"

"And it is," I offered, cutting him off before he could blanch any further. "It just is not yours or your men's, so I would like the premises cleared for my ops team to take over."

Having nothing more to say, I brushed past the still stuttering chief and motioned for the rest of the crew to drive in. Three other SUV's swerved past the blockades.

"You didn't have to scare that poor man to death, Erik," came a voice from the other side of the car I had just exited. Jacoby, my second-in-command, shut the passenger door with a grumble and trudged to my side. The uppity British man was hard to please, especially after being dragged from sleep to the other side of the city for an arson investigation. Normally my unit did not take care of such drivel that the local police could handle, but the circumstances were too coincidental to be true, and I dared not hope it was a lead. I found myself thankful that it was local, for sometimes I was called away for weeks at a time across oceans.

I didn't reply, instead pressing my ring finger to my earpiece, triggering the com system. "I want everything and everyone cleared out. Drill team, start pushing back the blockades. No one gets through unless I give the word. Operations, I want a full-scale chemical rundown of the house; find out what started the flame and why. Jacoby will be with me; we will begin examination of the victim and start compiling a list of suspects. Hopefully we can find a trail while it's still hot."

"Fine, ignore me," Jacoby complained. I simply flicked my wrist in his direction, ordering him to follow me into the ruins of the house. In the back of my mind I knew he would get me back for this, but I wasn't about to tell him that he was the only specialist I knew in dealing with this specific case. I would never willingly speak praise about the irritating "friend" of mine, and heaven forbid I do it to his face.

I stepped through the doorframe carefully, seeing the operations agents already mowing the whole floor over to find any substance that could indicate the fuel for the fire. Broken remains of furniture lay scattered, support beams were charred, and smoke damage was visible everywhere. It scorched every wall, every cabinet; every article that could have caught on fire did.

"This doesn't make sense," I thought aloud. "The fire only burned for, what, a half an hour before fire crews arrived and extinguished it?"

Jacoby glanced down at the filed report in his hand, scanning the information. A few moments later he lifted his head and nodded in confirmation. "The amount of damaged done to the house suggests that more than one area was lit when the flames first started."

"It sounds like our little cold case criminal, does it not?" I said dryly. If Jacoby had responded, I had not been paying attention, for the com came to life and the voice of a spec agent crackled through.

"Sir, the body has been found. Second floor, right wing."

Hastily I swerved around the dozens of people milling about, being careful not to touch the walls that may give way at any second.

I made my way up the flight of stairs and turned to the right to inspect what they had found. The body was definitely that of a woman, but beyond that, identification would have to require a DNA sample test. If the rest of the house had been singed, this woman had been scorched. Angry red and black burns covered her entire body, with little clumps of charcoal-colored hair still clinging to her scalp. Any evidence of clothing was reduced to ash. The position the body was lying in was very strange and her shriveled hand seemed to be pointing towards the door at the end of the hall, hanging ajar. Leaving Jacoby behind to further inspect the victim, I gingerly stepped towards the door. Even though I half-knew what to expect, I still reeled back from the sight. The room was stripped and bore the same damage that covered the rest of the house like scabs, except for red writing on the wall, written over the charred remains. Step after step I took closer to the message, hardly believing that this particular criminal was still at large. Dead end after dead end I scraped bare trying to figure out who was causing this string of murders. For ten years I had tracked the man responsible for so much carnage. My fists clenched tightly with a rage I knew so familiarly as I leaned forward and dabbed my fingers into the red paint, still wet, though I did not know how that was possible. At least, until I caught a whiff of the odor it so pungently gave off, the substance I'd still believed to be paint.

It was blood.

"Erik," I heard Jacoby call as he strode into the room, scribbling on a pad of paper furiously in his unreadable script. "There are incisions in the woman's wrists, suggesting that she was drained of her vitals before the fire occurred. I am having the body sent to the lab for more conclusive tests, but I…" he gasped suddenly before murmuring, "Oh my God…"

"Yes," I pried the word out of my throat, where the anger and frustration were blocking anything else from reaching the surface. I swallowed it down as best I could. "It seems I have already come to that conclusion."

There, on the wall, written in that poor woman's blood, was the same message that had haunted my nightmares for ten long years.

" _Your obedient servant,"_ the wall mocked, as it if were staring directly into the past of the man I knew it was meant for.

Clearing my throat and pushing the unwanted memories down as far as I could, I ordered Jacoby to get pictures taken of the site and samples taken of the blood to make sure it was actually the woman's. I pushed past him rapidly and stalked down the stairs and out of the forsaken house. I spun around and stared blankly at the ruins. This woman probably had a good life, a family, friends, and a job. She would never get that back because of me.

I shoved the unsolicited thoughts away by focusing on the tasks that needed to be done and pressed my finger to the com. "I want ends tied and wheels up in ten. Operations, rally to HQ and get me those lab results as of yesterday." There was nothing I wanted more than to be rid of this monstrous serial killer. Jacoby nipped at my heels like a lost dog and I knew he wouldn't quit the area so easily after the discovery we had just stumbled upon.

"Erik," he insisted, tromping after me even though I increased my speed just to put distance between us. "Erik, please," he heaved again. Could he not tell that I had no wish to take part in this conversation? "Erik!" he shouted this time, placing a hand on my shoulder. I froze at the touch and threw his arm away from me, watching the man reel back from the sudden movement. He held my gaze stubbornly. No one ever touched me without malicious intent and it was purely reflex; I hated being condoned in that manner.

"Jacoby, it is not wise," I seethed, "to continue to berate me about this subject. Am I making myself entirely clear?"

Fortunately, the man swallowed hard and nodded. After finally receiving the reaction I desired, I yanked the car door open and started the engine. My newly timid partner climbed into the passenger side and was silent the entire drive back to the headquarters, not that I took much notice, as my thoughts were fogging up my mind like a sandstorm.

I stormed through the halls on the way to the briefing room, carrying three files in the crook of one arm and a large black coffee in the other, silently wishing for a stronger beverage instead. As much as I was dreading this debriefing conference I knew that I needed to get agents trailing our ghost as soon as humanly possible.

I threw open the door only to hear Richards, my commanding officer, yelling, "This is not acceptable! We need to get this guy in custody, or so help me you will all be out of a job!"

"Excellent observations," I said, breaking his train of thought. His hair was frazzled and he looked steamed. I kept my eyes level with his and my body still to counteract his frustration, even though I was rushing through the same emotion myself. "However," I continued, striding into the room and standing at the head of the long metal table, "We cannot find him without these lab reports." I slapped the files onto the desk.

Jacoby, the first chair on my right, was the only one who did not find my stoic behavior unsettling and picked up the file nearest him and began pouring over the pages.

"The victim, identified as Mary Daniels, formerly Daae, was a thirty-one-year-old divorcee working as a teller for the local bank. She had no children and an ex-husband, Cameron Daniels. Living relatives include one sister, a Christine Daae."

"Now," I continued, pacing to and fro across the front of the claustrophobic, windowless room, "I need these people brought in for questioning and their homes searched, and if they don't comply, get warrants."

Richards started, still staring blankly at me. He was about to let more useless drivel flow out of that gaping black hole he called a mouth before I cut him off, not in any mood to bear his incessant bellowing. "Richards, I appreciate your concern for this case," I lied, "But I have the situation under control. This is my case and I am perfectly capable of ordering my team around without your supervision." To make a point that he wasn't worth my time, I took a long sip of the coffee drink still residing in my hand, despite how difficult the task was with my covered face—little sips I could handle without making a spectacle, but the mask definitely limited my movement. The lip of the cup banged the masks edge, but I managed to prevent the beverage from spilling onto the front of my shirt.

I took a glance back at my opponent, who was about to blow a gasket. When he took slow steps out of the room I knew that my insults would not go unpunished but for the moment I had the upper hand. He slammed the door.

Sorelli, the resident chemist, spoke up at that moment and broke the tension, her voice still shaking but her person under control and in work mode. "The source of the fire was quite unusual. My report shows that a trail of kerosene was lead throughout the house, dousing much of the floor. Now, here's the strange part," she paused, flipping through the papers and pulling out a single photograph of the victim's body. "This was identified as the source of the flame."

I pondered her insinuation before questioning her. "The victim's person lit the match, so to speak?" I glanced at Jacoby, who seemed just as confused as I was. "I have it on good authority that the woman was dead before the fire even started."

This revelation struck a nerve throughout the room and everyone shifted visibly and uncomfortably. As much as I hated being out of the loop, an entire room of CIA operatives was infinitely more so.

"That cannot be right," Sorelli countered while frantically flipping through her notes.

"Jacoby, please share your findings from the autopsy report in the file you picked up," I asked, looking at the rattled man. Despite all of his exasperating insensibilities, he was a squeamish bloke.

"Certainly," he stammered. "The victim was found to be drained of her blood supply by two lacerations, one on each wrist." Jacoby loudly cleared his throat and continued, taking out a photograph of the morbid blood message and displaying it. "The blood on the wall was confirmed as Mary's."

I let the information settle over the team before voicing my theories. "Either she was killed, dried, and lit by our ghost, or the lacerations were made after the woman died from the fire. However, the latter theory presents the following issues: how could the body have been drained in the middle of a burning building? And how could the blood have been painted over the scorched wall?"

Jacoby spoke up again, with a bit more courage this time, "The cuts were burned like the rest of the body, not fresh. Also, it would be hard to drain the fluid unless it had been pumping inside a live body; otherwise the body would need to be placed vertically, and she was not found in the state."

"Yes; the position of the deceased presents another question: did she die in that spot coincidentally pointing towards the message, or was her body placed this way?" I commented, starting my usual habit of pacing across the worn carpet to focus my mind on more meaningful undertakings.

Hadley, one of the operation goons, offered his opinion then. "Our mystery guy would have had to be in the burning building to execute that. Is there any possible route where he could have discreetly exited the building without it coming down on top of him?"

I bit my tongue, fighting the urge to point out that there was very little possibility of him escaping a burning building. "Based on Miss Sorelli's finding about the source, the fire spread within seconds of the fire being lit, and the blood was applied over the smoke damage." Hadley's expression sobered promptly.

Silence finally dominated the room like fog. It was impossible to see through the confusion and I needed to step back and take a different angle before my frustration seeped into my ever-present pool of anger. I ran my fingers through my hair, a sort of involuntary reaction when nervous energy took over. I turned to face the blank slates awaiting orders.

"Get me the sister. We need another angle. Until then, start digging. See what you can find out from the fire department, and see what you can milk out of witnesses that were present during the fire. And get me in touch with the ex-husband. I don't care what it takes," I huffed, forcing my words out in one breath. Every face stood locked with mine, as if they were children expecting a dismissal. I placed my forehead in my palm, feeling every ridge and bump and angry scar. "Go, now. Get it done."

The room cleared out unexpectedly quickly. Jacoby still sat, for some reason I was oblivious to.

"Care to explain what you're still doing in here, Nadir?" I said, some ice spilling into my tone with the use of his first name. I knew it would irritate him.

Jacoby sputtered a bit. "Erik, you're getting a bit too overwhelmed with this." His eyes seemed full of concern, a sight that irked me. I did not like receiving his pity.

"I do not understand," I lied. Of course, I knew what he was referring to but decided against having a conversation about it.

"Erik," Jacoby said exasperatedly. "Do not let your craving for redemption drive you insane."

I scoffed at his blatant response. How dare he confront me about my personal affairs after such a grueling morning we both endured? With a sneer I leaned toward him, mocking, "You think my desire to get a serial killer out of the streets is reversion to the past? Is this not my redemption? Do you believe I am still the low, vile, creature you found me as? You think I want to satisfy my own bloodlust to end his?" my voice raised to a feverish pitch. "This man has a death wish, but I shall see him behind bars before I ever…" the climax of fury I had reached only moments before faltered as the uncensored memories washed over me. I turned away from the man, refusing to allow my eyes discourse with his. "I will never kill for pleasure. Never again," I whispered, my voice cracking. Oh, how I hated appearing weak, but for his sake I would do anything to prevent my rage from causing rash decisions. Even if that meant not strangling him when the idea seemed so terribly wonderful at the moment.

"I never said anything about killing," Jacoby said firmly but gently.

"Well then, rest assured," I said, gathering as much composure as I could muster and turning back to the man. "You will conduct the family interviews. I understand that as soon as I step out that door"—I gestured stiffly to the door—"I am in for words with Richardson."

Saying nothing, just nodding, Jacoby stole out of the room and was already in the process of making calls.

I found myself suddenly grateful for my acquaintance. Never would I dare to tell him such nonsense, but nevertheless the weight-lifting relief was present. The feeling, however comforting, was unfortunately fleeting as I spied the photographs strewn across the table.

If I could not apprehend this murderer, I could never really be free from my mistakes. No one else deserved to die for the torment I both endured and inflicted. This poor woman had had a family. A sister. She probably had known a happy life. All of that ended because of me.

I took a small swig of the caffeinated drink still in my hand. It was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2: It's Christine

Christine's POV

The dark-skinned man who introduced himself as Nadir Jacoby had showed up at my doorstep with a very solemn look on his face, and if that was not a good indicator that something was very wrong, when he offered his condolences I was ready to fall apart with worry.

"My name is Nadir Jacoby, Miss Daae. I offer my condolences for your sudden loss."

Needless to say, staring at the man who stooped on my doorstep made my insides quiver with unease. I opened the door a hint further as I stared with incomprehension at his words. "I'm sorry?" I asked, a short, mirthless laugh clipping my words.

"May I come in?" he asked politely, his accent blending his words.

My expression hardened. "Who do you represent?" I inquired with hostility. I did not know who this man was, and I was not about to let a stranger peruse his way into my home.

"Miss, I am with the Central Intelligence Agency of Los Angeles."

I was stunned, a thousand questions burning in my brain. The instinctive side of my brain kicked in and suddenly the man was in my house and I was offering him tea. His civil refusal only worsened my anxiety for the situation. What on earth would a CIA operative be at my doorstep unless something was terribly wrong? Was my job, my family, my life at stake? Why was he alone, if so? It was torment waiting for him to explain himself. I found myself drumming my fingers nervously on my crossed arms.

"Please, sit," I offered awkwardly to the silent stranger. Casually did he stroll and lower himself on an armchair in the living room. I joined him in the chair opposite, never taking my eyes off of him.

"Miss Daae," he said slowly. "I regret to inform you that there was a fire very early this morning at your sister's home."

All of the air in my lungs rushed out and my heart was squeezed so tight it barely beat. I found myself unable to move or think or do much of anything as the realization ran over me like a bulldozer. "My sister is…dead?" I choked out, hardly believing my own voice and half-wishing my visitor would contradict me and say no, all of this was just an ill-conceived practical joke. He did not do that, instead casting down his gaze in confirmation of my fear.

"I don't know what to think," I whispered, my arms wrapping around my middle. I could feel the beginning of tears pooling in the corner of my eyes, but I dared not sob lest it become uncontrollable.

"I need to bring you in for questioning regarding the fire. You see, we believe that it was started intentionally."

I gasped, my hands flying to cover my trembling mouth. Murder? My sister was murdered? My breaths came faster as I struggled to wrap my mind around the morbid thought. Was it truly all real? Was I not dreaming? Unwillingly I slipped out of the chair and my knees crashed onto the cold hardwood.

"Miss!" Nadir gasped, rushing to my side, trying to help me up, but my body was striking its own course. Suddenly I could not control my own breathing and my vision swam in and out as my head pounded heavily. Nadir was spewing words like a fountain but I could not understand him, as if his words were traveling through water instead of air.

I pressed my palms to my temples, but the hammering was merciless. Eventually my breaths steadied, but I had no idea how long the episode lasted nor the state of my appearance afterwards. Along with Nadir's help, I managed to heave into a sitting position. "T-thank you," I croaked, glancing gratefully at the kind stranger and using my fingers to wipe the tears I did not realize I had shed from my face.

"Miss Daae…"

"Christine," I blurted, hiccupping and gasping, trying desperately to prevent more sobs from escaping my throat. "Call me Christine."

He eyed me warily but relented. "Christine, I am sorry to ask, but you were requested to come and answer some questions for us. Do you think you could handle that?" he asked delicately, offering his hand to help me up, which I accepted.

"I think I can," I decided. Whether or not it put my mind at rest, my sister deserved to have the crime solved.

"Whenever you are ready, we can be on our way Miss Christine," Nadir stated with placating. His way around my wish for informality would have made me smile under other surroundings. Unfortunately my mind was running through every memory it could conjure with my Mary. I would never get to hear her play the piano again, or drop lunch off for her at work, or take her out for drinks when she was upset about her ex. I remembered how enamored she was with Dad and how crushed she was when he died, I remembered how she could not bring herself to a piano until months after his funeral, I remembered helping her past the adversities her divorce had brought upon her. I would never see her smiling face again, or hear her laugh, or talk to her about the things that sisters confided in each other about.

I was now truly alone. The realization sunk to my feet along with my heart, making every step I took heavy and slow. Because of my distractions I wasted no effort to clean myself up and simply grabbed my purse and slipped on one of the random pair of shoes littered across my bedroom. I walked back into the living room and said, "I am ready." I tried to sound confident but I knew that all of the emotion in my voice couldn't be covered up even if my mouth were sewn shut.

Nadir gave me a sad smile and ushered me to the door, where I was thankful I was still thinking straight enough to lock the door behind me. There was a sleek black car sitting in my driveway; even the rims and the windows were tinted in the inky color.

I meandered over to the passenger door, pulling on my sunglasses as Nadir climbed into the driver's seat. Neither of us spoke as the city flew by the windows. I was consumed in my thoughts. All at the same time I wondered how she died, where she died, why she died. There was not a building or a shrub that drifted by the glass that I took notice of.

Suddenly the car parked, jolting me from the depression I had almost drove myself into. I squinted out the windshield at the familiar building. I figured that we would come here, but it would still be painfully uncomfortable to walk past everyone I knew accompanied by an outranking operative into the higher floors that I did not have access to. As I walked in the front door, Nadir flashing his badge, I found myself profusely grateful for my sunglasses, which I kept on to obscure the puffiness in my eyes from the prying ones of others.

We made a straight beeline for the elevators, but not before I passed a startled Meg who dropped all of her papers on the floor in shock. Embarrassed, I kept my gaze downward as people began to recognize me. My escort was not oblivious to the strange behavior; I just hoped he did not know that I was the cause.

The elevator pinged higher and higher: 24, 25, and 26. It finally ground to a halt at floor 27 and the doors opened. Nadir wasted no time and continued his unwavering pace through the maze of hallways and cubicles. No one this high up knew who I was, so the stares were less blush-worthy. Although I'm not sure my cheeks could get any redder after crying as much as I did.

"You are welcome to wait here," Nadir offered, sweeping his arm along the row of chairs along the drab gray wall. I knew it was not a suggestion, as I was only an asset and wouldn't be allowed further into the building without permission from the director. I slumped into the seat closest to the door, whipped off my sunglasses and stared into an abyss of nothing, one simple word playing over and over in my poor head.

 _Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead…_

To be frank I did not know how much time had passed in between Nadir's exit and his return, but at that point I did not much care. I was alone, I knew I needed to get used to the idea of being alone for long periods of time.

"Miss Daae, if you will—" he began, but I cut him off angrily.

"Christine." I did not mean to be so curt, but my emotions were unraveling and I was only slightly aware of it.

He stared at me for a moment before swallowing and continuing, "Miss…Christine," he said carefully, "if you will follow me, please."

I stood unemotionally and followed him through the door, keeping my gaze on my shoes and my grip on my bag. Some of the agents were too busy to notice me but those who did gored me with looks of pity that I knew were there but could not force myself to look upon to confirm. After a few twists and turns around offices and cubicles, not unlike the ones on my floor, I was ushered into a drab and standard interview room, with a table, two chairs, and a mirror I so obviously knew was not really a mirror.

"Have a seat, please. Mr. Laurent will be with you shortly."

I did not hesitate to take my own weight off my disoriented legs, dropping my purse to the ground.

 _My poor, poor Mary. What happened to you?_ I thought, finally letting the tidal wave of teardrops flow through me with no abandon.

Erik's POV

"I specifically told you, Jacoby, I would not be handling interviews and you know precisely why," I growled, agitated at the sight of him when I had so much paperwork to sift through and sign and get shipped off onto someone else's desk to be worried about. I could not, I had not conducted an interview in years, and it was because the scars I bore intimidated even the hardest criminal. It made pulling information out of suspects rudimentary.

"Erik, bear with me," he pleaded, vexed. "You told me to get a hold on the ex, and track down the girl, and I cannot do both at the same time."

I should have known he would try to foist the blame on my shoulders. I so wished to argue with him, but on one ground he was correct. It would waste precious time interviewing the girl when he could be pounding the pavement in search of the ex-husband.

"Fine," I complied, though not entirely pleased with doing so. My exhausting partner, evidently finding the answer he was looking for, strode out of my office without another word. Sighing and taking up the folders splayed around my desk, I followed his lead and stalked out the door and down the hall to the containment room. As I approached the closed door, I heard faint sniffling and I stopped in my tracks.

There was a sobbing woman on the opposite side of the door. I did not know how to handle a crying woman, much less one about to endure the news he was to deliver. I racked my brain for any possible experience to deal with a fragile state of mind, and remembered that gentle and slow words seemed to have a positive effect on people. That was the only strategy I could think of as I sucked in a deep breath and tentatively opened the door.

The girl was slumped in her chair with her head in her arms on the table, her dark hair splayed everywhere about her, obscuring her face from my view. She seemed oblivious to my entrance.

"Miss Daae," I said with cautious cadence.

She jumped back at my voice, looking at me with confusion written all over her features. Her cheeks and under her eyes were chapped from her tears, but it was her eyes that startled me the most. They sparkled with an oceanic depth and their color held that of the self-same depths. If I was not so preoccupied with my own thoughts I might have gotten lost in their fathoms.

I sat in the chair opposite her and watched her fidget and attempt to level into a calmer state. Pity flickered briefly through me, but only briefly. "May I offer my condolences?" I asked out of habit. Creating an open connection with a delicate subject encouraged tearing down walls, at least most of the time. However, her eyes would not be the only element to this woman that would catch me off guard.

She jarred up out of her seat, effectively knocking it over with a clatter. Her action startled me as her voice threw words at me almost faster than I could comprehend them.

"Are you serious? My sister is dead and that is all you have?" she spat, waving her arms around as if she did not know what to do with them. "I don't even know how she died and you offer your condolences? What if I do not want them?" her breath came faster as she continued to yell quite unreasonably. I was fighting to keep my nerves steeled. "Why am I here? Please, can someone start being straight with me?" she pleaded, taking a step closer and bracing her hands on the table. "I do not want to continue to be treated like a child!"

"Miss Daae, I—

"Oh please don't 'Miss Daae' me!" she hissed, throwing herself into the corner of the room. "Call me Christine and talk to me like I am not about to break and maybe I will answer your damn questions," she demanded.

I stared at this woman, her frizzy hair now thrown even wilder about her. Never had I encountered, in all of my thirty years, a subject who had spoken to me like this. Most of the people that had did not live to tell the tale, their deaths coming by my hand or otherwise. I had no idea any other way to proceed except to comply with her request.

"Very well," I said assertively, maintaining eye contact with her in effort to mollify her harsh nature. "Your sister is the victim of a suspected murder case, one that has been open for ten years. Her home burned down very early this morning with her inside." She gave a little gasp and covered her mouth with a tiny white hand. "I will need you to calm down so I can ask some questions, and then you can be on your way. I offered condolences because, I am afraid, at this juncture I do not have anything else to offer you." I gestured to the chair she so rudely knocked over and asked, "May you please replace the chair so we can get started?"

Christine proceeded to gaze at me like I had grown a third eye. I raised my eyebrows at her, and her gaze flickered to the awkward fidgeting of plastic and she asked the question I never expected to hear. Then again, this woman said and did quite a few things I did not expect.

"Why do you have a mask?"

I jarred my stare away from her inquiring one, clenching my fists. No one ever had the nerve to ask me that horrid question and anger boiled in me. I tried to pretend that I did not hear it and asked again, "Miss, can you please replace the chair so we can begin?" I noticed a small tremor and my voice and cleared my throat loudly to rid myself of it.

Unfortunately she began to yell again. "Answer my question! You said you would talk to me like a normal person!" she sobbed again and retreated back into the corner she seemed to like so much. Something inside of me snapped. This was exactly why I refused to conduct interviews; I had a short fuse that was went up like a bonfire.

"Christine Daae," I growled. "I have tried to be polite to you, I have tried to be diplomatic with you, and yet you still yell flagrantly. You force me to become severe with you. I will not answer your question because that is one you do not have the liberty to entertain," I seethed, edging a bit of threat into my words. "Either you will conduct yourself with decorum like a _normal person_ ," I mocked using her exact tone of voice, "or I will be forced to leave the room and someone with much less understanding than I will conduct this interview. Am I clear?"

I heard a few struggled gulps of air before she turned back to me with fresh tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Guilt nipped at the back of my mind for making her cry but I pushed it away.

"I am sorry," she whispered, suddenly as meek as a mouse again. "I did not mean to…I did not want to…" she stuttered, trying desperately to choose her words carefully, it seemed.

I held up a hand. "There is no apology necessary, Miss Daae—"

"Christine."

I glanced back at her and her outburst seemed quite short lived as she withdrew back into herself yet again.

"Christine," I continued cautiously. "I understand your grief, but I need you to focus so that we can both rest easy knowing that your sister's killer will be apprehended."

With shaky steps, she treaded over to the chair, righted it, and sat delicately into it with her arms protecting her midsection. I guessed it was a sort of comfort mechanism for her. "Okay," she agreed with a quiet voice.

"Good." I shuffled through the papers and found the questions Jacoby had scribbled onto a blank paper. His handwriting was atrocious, as usual. "Bear with me, for my partner's script is nothing short of a second-grader's."

To my relief she gave a small release that could have almost been a laugh, had this been under different circumstances. I could almost forgive her for asking the question I have killed men over.

I cleared my throat. "Your sister was found on the second floor of her home this morning at approximately 4:37 am. Where were you at this time?"

"My home, sleeping," she said plainly. She was hugging herself possessively and her eyes were fixed on the table. With her speech slowed and deliberate, I detected a foreign flavor in her accent. Perhaps Northern European.

"When was the last time you saw Mary?"

Her brow furrowed as she thought. "Last Wednesday. I brought her lunch where she works—worked—at the bank."

"Does your sister have much contact outside of her work?"

She shook her head. "No. Her divorce hit very hard. She only had me." I noticed a few hitches in her voice.

"She had no contact with Cameron Daniels?"

"No," she replied, sniffling. "They separated harshly."

"Can you explain in your perspective, the divorce?"

She squirmed, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. She took a few shaky breaths before starting her story. "They were only married for three years. Before that, they dated for one. Cam and Mary were dysfunctional from the start. They were both really headstrong and it made it hard for them to make decisions. So when they started to fall apart I was disappointed, but not surprised. Cam got to drinking and Mary hated it. There were wedges that split them open. Mary took her job too seriously and he didn't take his serious enough."

I nodded, satisfied with the information. "Do you know the whereabouts of Mr. Daniels?"

"As far as I know, he lives downtown with his buddies at a nightclub," she revealed. "But, I do not know. Needless to say I do not speak with him very much."

I found the location of the man to be a tad unsettling, especially if he really was a heavy drinker. Satisfied with the findings, I pulled out the photographs taken at the crime scene. Looking at the miserable woman, I decided that maybe I could issue a warning, for the pictures were quite graphic without adding the fact that this was her family.

"I must warn you, these photographs are extremely graphic. You do not need to see them, but it may help our investigation if you do so."

She regarded me with a thousand emotions in her eyes. Her intensely blue eyes. Blue was too drab a word to describe the color, but then again there was no extravagant word for blue that fit either. Sapphires held nothing against them.

"I will see them."

I blinked. What had just happened? I broke her gaze, shuffling through the photographs and placed them on the table haphazardly. In a bizarrely frantic state, my hands stumbled to reorder them and I wondered what power this woman could possibly possess to fluster me to this end. Never was I lacking in coordination without forethought and never did I let my organization falter, not even in Iran.

"Mary's body was found on the second floor pointing towards a room directly in the southern portion of the house," I explained all in one breath, gathering my wits as tightly about me as they would go.

Christine's hands covered her mouth as another bout of fresh tears hung at the corners of her eyes. "This is my Mary?" she asked with a voice barely there, pointing to a particular photograph of the victim. "Oh my God…" she croaked. She began mumbling to herself in an unrecognizable tongue.

"Can you tell me what that room's purpose was?" I asked tentatively.

It was a few moments before she responded, her mouth gulping in deep breaths every few seconds. "It was her husband's room. Before they got the divorce, when their marriage was heading downward, they began sleeping in different rooms. Everything got cleared out when he moved. She never went in there again."

That explains why we found the room bare, I thought. "Does this phrase mean anything to you?" I asked, holding up the photograph of the blood writing.

She gasped, her breaths becoming shorter. "Is that…blood?" her face twisted in revulsion, but not for long before it turned to one of surprise and disgust as she hunched over the side of the table and heaved. I jumped back, quite uneasy at the sight of this broken girl. There were not many times in my life that I faced a situation with no inkling how to get out of it.

"May I be of any assistance?" I presented, trying not to let revulsion slip into my voice because of the unpleasantness now in the room. In all my life I had never come across an occasion more uncomfortable than this. I had been faced with many things, but a sick woman had never been one of them.

Moments passed before she spoke again, but it was in a language I did not understand. It was harsh, with many stressed syllables, and was probably her default, considering the slight accent to her English. She seemed to catch her mistake and corrected herself, her voice now hoarse, "Can I have water, please?" she was still huddled on the chair, her hair hanging in front of her face so I could not see her expression.

And Nadir chose that moment to walk into the room.

In case anyone was wondering, I made Nadir a middle eastern of British descent because of a plot design that will later involve MI6. Will someone let me know if these chapters are on the short side? I have 21 pages, so I'm trying to break it up as evenly as I can before I run out of things to upload before I can finish. I will try to upload at least once a week, but it may vary depending on how much writing I can manage. (I start college in August so it will decrease soon, unfortunately.) I'll do my best! -Em


	3. Chapter 3: Central Intelligence

_Thanks so much for the follows and favorites already! It is inspiring me to continue all the time. Enjoy the next installment! -Em_

Christine's POV

Of course, I felt terrible for throwing up. It was embarrassing but seeing Mary's blood smeared on a wall, her corpse, my body could not hold all of that pain in, and it let itself out through my annoying gag reflex. Poor Mr. Laurent, I thought, him having to endure my childish arguing and then my sickness made me feel even worse about the whole situation. At least I had my hair to cover up the hideous blush creeping up my face from a heady combination of tears and humiliation.

"May I be of any assistance?" I heard the man ask. I could tell he was just as uncomfortable as I was.

"Can I have water, please?" I asked with a shaking voice, not realizing I had spoken in Swedish. I silently cursed myself for retreating so far into myself and repeated the phrase in English. I did not realize how dehydrated I was until I expelled all of the substance out of my body. My nails dug into my sides as I tried to disappear. Curling up into a fetal position and taking a long sleep sounded like a pretty good option right now.

The door opened without any warning, revealing the form of Mr. Jacoby, the man who had been so gracious to me earlier.

"Erik, may I have a word with—" his speech faltered as he took in his surroundings. "What the hell went on in here?"

Neither of us spoke or made eye contact with him. The awkward silence ensued for much longer than I would have liked, but then again, no words to explain what happened came to mind.

Finally, Mr. Laurent, or Erik or whatever, spoke in quiet tones. "Miss Daae has fallen ill and requests water. I think," he said, glancing back at me, but I didn't look up to meet his eyes, "We are done here."

Alexander rushed over to me and helped me right to my feet, muttering under his breath words of apology and a few choice ones I assume were directed towards Erik. This time as we walked through the halls I did not bother with what I might have looked like or what other agents might have thought I looked like. For once in my life I did not care.

"Freshen yourself up and then we will have a calmer discussion," he suggested, pointing towards the women's room. "I know Er—Mr. Laurent can be quite detached from human emotion," he explained with a void smirk, "So I understand if the situation became unbearable."

I shook my head weakly. "It was not his fault," I said, somewhat believing my own assertion. Nadir still looked unconvinced. He opened his mouth to say something but I refused him the chance, walking into the restroom and letting out a few uninhibited sobs. My brain struggled to catch up with all I had experienced in the past few hours, if it had even been that long. It felt like days had passed since I had been lounging in my home, drinking coffee and eating breakfast. Was that really this morning?

I leaned against the sink. My sister was really gone. Some part of me clung to the hope that I might have been dreaming or hallucinating or something. But seeing those photos of her, in her house, lying in the settled ashes after the bonfire, the conclusion hit me full force. If my stomach had not already been empty, I would have been powerless to stop it from emptying itself again.

After a few splashes of cold water to the face, I brought my line of sight level with that of my reflection. Reflection-me was a mess. She had bloodshot and puffy eyes and her lips were chapped. Her face was so red it was practically glowing. Her hair was tangled and ratty and completely out of control. Her clothes were sloppy and mismatched. At least they were not covered in vomit.

I wondered what Mister Interview thought of my behavior. Sure, at the time it felt justified but I knew it was juvenile. Asking him that stupid question was the highlight of my career of embarrassing moments. His behavior was none of my business. Although when someone finds out their only family is dead, any conversational filters they might possess fly out of the window. But, now that I thought about the conversation we had, I realized that he treated me like an actual human being. He did not bother with many formalities or apologies; he told me what I needed to hear and not what I wanted. I now knew the reason why pity was so unwelcome today—everyone was trying to save me from myself except for Mr. Laurent. He talked to me normally, albeit confrontationally. Now that my thoughts rested on the strange man, I found that I could not remember any significant details about him save the white mask.

There was a respectful knock on the door. "Miss Daae?" called the muted voice of Nadir. "Are you alright?"

No, I thought. "I will be out in a moment," I yelled. I grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at my eyes, trying hard to rid myself of residual tears.

Gathering as much bravery I could, I pushed the door open gingerly. Nadir wore a compassionate look on his face and a cup of water in an outstretched hand. "Would you prefer to reside in my office for the time being?" I nodded in reply, taking his offering without hesitation and sipping it repeatedly.

His office was indeed much better than the cramped interrogation space. There was a wall to ceiling window looking out on the Los Angeles skyline, which despite the terrible air quality I found quite beautiful at times. There resided a mahogany desk with matching filing cabinets on either side of the room. It was definitely a step up from my cramped cubicle mere floors below my feet. Two chairs were erected in front of the desk.

"I am terribly sorry for everything, Miss Daae," he said, striding over to his desk and sitting gracefully. He looked up at me suddenly with a quizzical smile as if he were perplexed.

"Is something the matter?" I asked, not in the mood for more bad news, silently warning Nadir against delivering any unless he wanted a permanent stain on his carpet.

He chuckled lightly. "It is just that you did not correct me when I said your name."

I stood there, having not realized I did not. I guess after going through the day's ordeals I found it quite obsolete to waste words on that childish tendency. "I would offer an apology, but I am not quite sure if that would be correct," I said monotonously, still not taking a step towards the chairs placed in front of his desk.

Nadir gave another bout of quiet laughter. "Again, I am sorry for Mr. Laurent's earlier behavior."

"I told you, it was not him. He was actually the only one who treated me like a person and not a hand-in-your-condolences-here box," I admitted, blurting out the confession before realize I what I had said. "I am sorry, I did not mean to insult," I defended, taking small steps and hanging my head. So much for avoiding childish behavior, I chastised. To my great relief, he shook his head, defusing my guilt over the thoughtless comment.

"Please," he pleaded, "Take a seat so we can have a chat about how to proceed." He waited until I plopped down in the chair opposite him to continue. "I want to make this transition as comfortable as possible for you," he said. "At this juncture you can choose to contact a friend and put up board, or return to your home. For the sake of the investigation, if you do contact a friend we will need to have them background checked and…"

My brain whirred to life. I had forgotten about this step in the process and I completely tuned out his sentences after he said that. "Meg," I spoke aloud.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Meg," I said with a bit more confidence. "Megan Giry is a good friend of mine."

He seemed pleased with the fact that I, indeed, had friends. "Alright, if you can give me her phone number I can start her background processing right away."

"Oh you do not need to," I explained. "She works here."

He seemed surprised. "Oh?" I noticed that his fingers drummed on the wood in perplexity.

"Yes," I confirmed. "She is on my level downstairs."

The man rapidly lost color. "I beg…your pardon? _Your_ level?"

My brow crinkled as I lost comprehension of the situation, feeling and probably looking just as lost as Nadir did.

"I thought you knew," I faltered, suddenly questioning the competence of the entire Central Intelligence Agency.

An exhaustive groan escaped him. "And what exactly did you think we knew?" he asked sarcastically, placing his forehead in his hand in aggravation.

"I work here."

"Yes, yes," he grated. "I gather that now."

Erik's POV

"I can't keep throwing you out on a limb, Erik!" Richards bellowed. I would have given anything to avoid this conversation but having the girl break down in the middle of the interrogation prevented any scenario where I could have avoided it. I did not respond to his incessant shouting, choosing instead to ignore him, arms folded and posture stiff. He turned to look at me and slammed his hands on his desk, his things rattling about on it. "For ten years this guy has been writhing inches away from our grasp and after five of them you still haven't been able to snag him."

"That is no fault of mine, I assure you," I growled.

My sparring partner snorted. "Do enlighten me as to how it is not a fault of yours."

"I have spent ten years, as you so eloquently pointed out, of my life hunting the ghost. Do you not think, if it were in my power, he would be six feet under by now?" I asked harshly with a finger pointed downwards, daring not to break his stare.

"Come off it, Laurent," he jeered, stalking towards the window. "We know nothing about this guy! For all we know it could be a woman! I need this case closed, and I need it that way since 2006," he demanded.

My fists balled, fingernails digging into my palms. "I am working on it," was all I said to respond, which garnered a look of disdain.

"I need better than that."

"I don't have better than that."

He sighed. Tensions ran high every time another string of homicide threw us off of our pedestal, and it never ended pleasantly. "You had better clean up the mess you made with the Daniels murder," he ordered wearisomely. "Get it done."

I would have stalked out the door and holed myself up in my office until, for the second time today, Jacoby barged into a room I would rather he be outside of.

"Richards?" he said, poking his head inside and finding me standing there with what I'm sure was an aggravated expression.

"What is so important?" Richards probed, fixing Jacoby with a deathly glare.

The intruder swallowed uncomfortably and said, "I'm sorry if I interrupted but I found something out from Miss Daae that requires your attention."

"You were not interrupting," I cut in, making my way to the door, "I was just leaving."

Irritatingly, Jacoby blocked my way. "You may want to hear this too."

"What is it?" Richardson sighed. I was mere seconds away from flinging the small Brit out of my way despite his alleged discovery.

"She's an analyst."

I could almost feel the shock that jolted into the air. "What?"

"She's a CIA analyst."

"Goddammit," I seethed. The complications this would arouse were even more troubling than having a terse argument with my CO. This day was stretching into years.

"Does she have a contact she can recover with?" Richards asked, even more frustration burning through his eyes.

Jacoby nodded. "A fellow analyst. She claims to be well acquainted."

Richards shifted to face me. "Get back in there and resume the interrogation. Find out everything you can about this woman and any enemies she might have had." He paused, a sudden change coming over his pinched expression. "In fact, why don't you take on the role of her supervising officer?"

Shock sputtered and tangled in the anger already present in my chest, and I knew that the time for payback was now. Richards did not stand for lack of respect, but this time his retaliation was too far.

"No."

He laughed sharply. "No?" he mocked. "I outrank you. That is an order."

I balled my fists, thinking of a thousand ways I could have murdered him where he stood, although I managed to restrain myself to a simple scathing retort. "Simply because you are too incompetent to assign a more suitable officer to Miss Daae does not mean you should subject me to that tactless neglect." I was not about to claim responsibility for that mess of unpredictability, much less the body that housed it. My methods for living were already unorthodox enough and if I couldn't take care of a normal human being, how was I expected to take care of one in such a fragile state? No. This would not happen. I could not let it happen.

"I am afraid you do not have any choice."

"But—" I sputtered, searching everything for an excuse to rid myself of that girl, and to my horror there was not a single thing I found that would make a lick of sense.

Richards raised his eyebrow and pressed a finger against the lobe of his ear. "What was that again?" he asked, daring me to argue with him further.

Red burned my vision and I forced my voice down my throat quite regrettably. He took my silence as compliance, despite it being unwilling compliance, and he waved his hand as if to shoo Jacoby and I. I found myself unable to get out of that room fast enough and found my partner in agreement with me as we both bolted for the door. As soon as it was good and closed behind us the infernal man grabbed my shoulder and hissed in my ear. "Are you out of your bloody mind?"

Immediately I shook out of his grasp. "I had no choice," I replied. All I wanted was to hole myself in my house and surround myself in the only solace I have ever known. Although, I knew that I did not want to swim further into the shark tank with Richards, even if it meant my only source of rescue from the waters was a little girl.

Jacoby just looked at me, no emotion but irritation radiating from him. "Let us just hope you know what you are getting yourself into."

I snorted. "I am well aware of the duties of an S.O."

"Well then?" Nadir gestured to his office. "She is in my office! Please don't get vomit all over my carpet," he chided dryly. Under any other roof I would have strangled him without a second thought.

Sure enough, when I crept into his office, the miserable thing sat there like a patient waiting for a doctor and with an expression as if she was expecting a terminal diagnosis. In truth, she was not that far off.

"Miss Daae," I said upon entrance. She craned her neck and drew in a sharp breath. "I assume you understand how this will proceed?" I prodded, taking long strides and settling into the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

She blinked a few times, a flicker of some unfamiliar emotion creasing her forehead. "Yes," she stammered bewilderedly.

"Good. Now I have contacted someone who will collect your things from your home, and you can choose either to stay here or return to your floor until we send you with your friend," I explained slowly. It seemed as if the girl could only process information in slow bouts without retching all over the floor, so this time around I would remain deterrent, Jacoby's sarcastic comment ringing in my ears.

Her upturned nose scrunched with distaste. "I think I would be more comfortable up here."

"Good," I repeated. "I still have a few questions for you, if you think you can handle it," I said, adding that last part quickly before anything other problems had the chance to happen. Yet, once again, I found myself making a mistake in the effort to prevent one. She hung her head and little sniffles were overheard beneath her curtain of hair. The stabbing guilt nudged the back of my mind again, having made her cry twice in the same day. I bit back a curse at this unmanageable girl.

Before I could say anything to calm her down, she said, "You think me a child."

She nailed me right on the head. I tried to cover up my flub, saying, "Miss Daae, I hardly think I meant—"

My words stopped as she flipped her head up and spoke again. "I am terribly sorry for my behavior, Mr. Laurent," she apologized, using the back of her hand to wipe her tears away. "Please continue," she decided, displaying an uncharacteristic change from the juvenile girl in the interrogation room.

I cleared my throat. "Very well. The phrase contained in the photograph you previously saw, have you seen or heard it before?"

She shook her head quite adamantly. "No." Relief mixed with disappointment wandered through my thoughts, and it was a strange mix. I was disappointed she had nothing to report on the message, but a small part of me was relieved she did not know what it meant and altogether unsure why.

"The blood was painted over the smoke damage. Can you offer any explanation to this?"

A puzzled look came over her features. "I have only been in that room once or twice, and that was before Cameron moved out."

"Could there have been smoke damage before the fire occurred?" I pressed, eager to find the answers to this paradox.

She thought for a brief moment. "There might have been an incident, but I cannot say for certain," she recalled. "I remember her calling me over one night, about a week after they split. She was a jumble and went on and on about him really being gone, and said she did not want to cook because she was afraid she might burn the house down. I remember an awful smell so I just assumed that she had gotten distracted trying to fix herself something and burned it, so I made her dinner that night."

"Do you have any contact with anyone outside your workplace, disregarding your sister or her husband?"

"Not really," she revealed. "None of my friends from high school live here, and work is my life."

I frowned. "Surely you were close to someone besides your sister?"

She shrugged distractedly. "Only one."

"And she is…?" I lead, trying to press information out of her. She seemed short-lived in her responses.

"She is an analyst, like me."

Would it truly be this impossible to get a straight answer out of this sniffling creature? "Her name, Miss Daae, if you please."

I waited for her correcting response to come, to hear her grating dispense with formality, but it never came. An entirely different woman sat before me, it seemed.

"Oh," she exhaled flatly. "Megan Giry."

"I will make arrangements for you to remain in her company until further notice."

A small smile graced her mouth, and at once I neglected to remember any guilt I harbored over upsetting the delicate little thing. One little smile and the world around me drained of color and life and any vibrancy whatsoever, except for the first smile she had ever given in my presence.

Dear sweet mercy, what was wrong with me?


	4. Chapter 4: Dinner Plans

_Wow okay it's been a while. Sorry for the hiatus after only three chapters. College life. Anyway, here's the next installment. I'm resuming this little pet project of mine, so hopefully I will give you another short burst of chapters within the coming weeks. As I've said before, the story itself isn't quite finished, but I sincerely hope you guys enjoy the update and Erik squirming like a bug under a rock ;) -Em_

Christine's POV

I soon found myself, after a surprisingly short period meditating with just my thoughts, in Meg's crushing embrace.

"I am so incredibly sorry! I am so glad you are alright! Thank God you can stay with me!" and other such exclamations dribbled from the frantic blonde as she nearly depleted me of my air supply.

"Meg…air…please…" I sputtered, my hands tapping out on her shoulders.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" she released me of her hug and regarded me with round eyes, her hands bracing my shoulders. "Are you alright?" she asked, a sympathetic smile on her lips.

Was I alright? How could I answer that question when I did not know the answer? There was not a definite answer anyway. I felt numb all over, my senses all on autopilot, my thoughts a tangled mess like a cat's ball of yarn, or more acutely, my hair, at the moment. Everything was unfamiliar and foreboding and my nerves were on extra doses of paranoia as if I had just awoken from a lifelong coma and had no recollection how to feel or recognize anything around me. Even Meg seemed distant from my mind. My surroundings ceased to make any sense.

This sensation began the minute I heard his voice, really heard it, not just a passive hearing but a listening. A savoring. I was slumped in Nadir's office trying desperately to shut off my emotions. Just as I was calming my tears enough for me to see straight, my name echoed off the walls in splendor, giving the room a much more acoustic sensation than it did naturally because of the music in his voice. I sucked in a breath, not expecting such liquid symphony to settle over my ears like a blanket of honey. And then I turned and looked at him. His amber eyes matched his rich voice, and he was taller than any man I ever knew, and regally gaunt too. He was such a peculiar individual and my eyes were arrested on him, entranced at his foreboding strangeness and gracefulness. Every move he made was fluid and catlike. My brain had a hard time believing that this was the same man I had nearly thrown up on. The rest of our conversation went smoothly, and I suspect it had something to do with the magic in his voice that kept me teetering on the edge of sanity, tipping in favor of the latter instead of madness as I had been the previous time we spoke. I found myself amazed at my apparent dismissal of his person earlier, not sure how such a feat was accomplished.

"Hello?" came Meg's voice, her fingers snapping in front of my eyes and I flinched back at the noise. "Anybody home?" her voice wavered and I knew she was fighting to keep lighthearted.

I forced a plastic smile. "I am a little distracted today," I said sheepishly, shrugging the memories off my shoulders, if only for a little while.

"Let's get you settled," Meg comforted, steering me out the door and to her little sedan. For the entire drive she prattled on about her day, which I knew was her mechanism for dealing with grief, but my ears were still full of a different voice, the voice that had such a powerful hold on me even still, and a calm settled over me. Mary was gone and all I should have thought was how my life would change and how miserable I was, but I found myself rejoicing at her reunion with Dad, and I imagined them sitting side by side playing the piano, or creating their own duet, her on the piano and him on the violin. Heaven would be filled with the glorious music our family was blessed with by that very congregation which was now their audience. I found myself wishing I could be there to see it, to complete the trio that only had each other for so long. That wish made my thoughts grind to a halt. Did I really pray for death?

I shuddered, suddenly afraid of the dark corners I did not know my mind possessed. The truth was, when it came to death, I did not know what I wanted, and that terrified me. I glanced at my friend in the driver's seat, her eyes sparkling bittersweet, and I realized that, for today at the least, it was not my time to join Dad and Mary. Meg was here and she was going to take care of me.

She finally took a breath once she pulled into her driveway and noticed my stare. She grasped my hand and it dragged me back into the world of reality, realizing that my hands were ice and the warm contact almost made me pull away.

"It's going to be okay." She smiled and squeezed my hand compassionately, and I found myself returning a genuine smile. I could not leave Meg. We had known each other too long for me to cast off our friendship so carelessly.

Maybe it was going to be okay, I thought as the walls fell away and relief and gratitude made their way to the surface through another bout of fresh tears, as my friend's eyes welled up with the same.

Swollen eyelids were scraping against my dry eyes as the light of the late morning poured into them. I craned my arms above my head and warmed my stiff muscles, curling my toes and scrunching up my face in the process. The light adjusted as I stared into a space that was not my bedroom.

I was in Meg's room.

Mary.

I shut my eyes tight again, somehow believing that I could just fall back to sleep if I closed them. Needless to say I was very much awake, and the aching I felt was not simply physical. My heart felt incredibly heavy and my spirit cut down, as if Mary had been a piece violently ripped from it. Sluggishly, I pulled back the covers from the rest of me and gingerly placed my feet on the floor. Every move I made was foreign, the hardwood cold and unwelcoming.

"Honey?"

I jumped, startled at the voice. Meg leaned against the doorframe, clad in shorts and a loose tee shirt. Her face looked at me imploringly. "Would you like some honey in your coffee? I know that's how you like it." Her attempt at thoughtfulness drove a bit of the aching away, but not nearly enough.

Sighing, I nodded. "You are not going in today?"

She shook her head and smiled gently, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. "I called in and explained and they gave me the rest of the week off to be with you."

Relief flooded over me. I wouldn't have to be alone, at least not for a few days. "I think I will take you up on that cup of coffee," I said, flexing my toes and standing. "Black, no sugar, please. And yes, honey."

Meg let out a small giggle. "I know. I bring you coffee every day." She turned and left me to ready myself, a small smirk still resting on my lips. I brought myself over to one of the suitcases full of my clothes I had hastily packed and rifled through it until I found suitable undergarments, a thick sweater, and some jeans, tucked them under my arm and then I stepped over to the bathroom, thinking how wonderful a hot shower would be, when the doorbell rang through the house.

"I'll get it!" Meg shouted, and I heard the door swing open as I unscrewed the knob and steaming water spewed from the shower head. I stripped myself of clothing and let the water rush over me, banishing any dark leftover thoughts from my mind and letting my muscles relax under the flow. It felt nice to relax after the headaches I'd endured from crying so terribly often yesterday, and the steam reinvigorated my senses so I hoped I wouldn't be a dazed mess for the rest of the day.

Nearly simultaneously as I had finished, a respectful knock sounded on the bathroom door accompanied by a muffled voice.

"I will be out in a few minutes, Meg," I told the door. I did not hear a reply, so I quickly rid myself of excess moisture and pulled my clothing on and opened the door, my hair still soaked and clinging to my skin.

I expected to see Meg standing there, but she was absent from the bedroom, although I heard voices coming from the kitchen, both familiar.

"How is she doing?"

"Better than expected, I guess. She cried a lot last night," Meg's voice whispered. I stopped in my tracks, embarrassed. Interrupting a conversation about me was not a preferable way to greet our guest. I stayed behind the wall, just to the right of the entryway to the kitchen

"And you, Miss Giry?" a deep accent asked her in return. _Nadir_.

"I'm just worried about her. I don't want to leave her alone."

I heard Nadir sigh from my perch around the corner. "I understand. I'm just here to check up on her." A pause, and then he continued. "Can you go see where she is, Erik? I want to ask Miss Giry a few more questions."

Mr. Erik was here? I sprang backwards from my eavesdropping and ran back towards the hall I had descended from, only to trip over myself in my haste and fall flat on my back. The air in my lungs left me suddenly as I yelped in surprise at my own clumsiness. Great, I moaned, now they all think I'm incapable of taking care of myself.

"Chris!" Meg exclaimed, rushing over and crashing on her knees beside me. "What happened?"

"I-I…I, uh, tripped," I blurted stupidly, sitting up and digging my fingers into my shoulders. I could already feel the bruises forming.

Erik and Nadir followed swiftly after, both staring down at me with concern, or so I hoped. Nadir I could sense, but it was impossible to get a read on Erik.

I got to my feet and brushed myself off as quickly as I could manage, feeling blood heat my cheeks. "I am fine. Sorry for not welcoming you properly," I apologized, hanging my head like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Nadir, thankfully, gave a wide smile and waved his hand as if to dismiss it. "No matter, we are sorry to disturb you." He looked at Erik, who still didn't move his body or his cold stare.

This could not have gotten any more awkward.

I turned to Meg. "You know? I am going to go finish getting ready. Could you bring me my coffee?" I asked, hoping she would get the message that I was going to retreat into that room and stay there until our guests were gone. Or the rest of the day. Whichever came first.

Her eyes searched mine, and then alighted with understanding. "Of course," she spoke slowly. With that, she flitted her way around the visitors, and I fled.

~Erik's POV

The little blonde who invited us in and said Christine wasn't available was already irritating. I caught her piercing little glances towards my face and her falsely perky exterior, and if Jacoby had noticed any of this he did not show it. He was extraneously polite to the distracted woman, which did nothing to help the black mood I was crawling in. I was not prepared to be an S.O., much less the one of Miss Daae.

That woman had no coordination, or respect in any of its forms, and her mood was entirely unpredictable, and I had extreme distaste for people with those unholy qualities. I decided to leave out the bizarre effect she had on me when compiling my opinion of her, comprehension of it reaching far beyond my purview anyway. Her spill in the hallway—and her obvious eavesdropping, as I could hear the scuffling of feet and the faint dripping of water—only proved me my own point.

"Erik, what you did was rude. You should have said something to the poor thing," Jacoby chastised, glaring at me sternly. I didn't reply.

The blonde woman skirted around us again, this time clutching a steaming mug. She didn't pay us a second glance as she padded straight down the hall and into the room into which Christine had descended. Seeing very glaringly that we were no longer welcome, I started for the door. If she did not want me in her home then I finally had a good excuse to present to Richards about how I could not, and how I should not be her supervisor. She was a grown woman for Christ's sake! She could take care of herself! Although, seeing as she could trip and fall over her own self, I doubted the validity of this last thought.

"We are not leaving," Jacoby ordered fairly harshly. I knew I couldn't leave, but my fingers itched to get my hands back on the steering wheel and drive anywhere rather than stay here.

"She reminds me of someone," he stated rather cryptically, drumming his finger on the countertop of the kitchen.

I stiffened, swiveling to face him. "Who on earth are you talking about?"

He smirked, still staring straight ahead down the hallway. "Christine, of course."

"No," I grated, "Who does she remind you of?" My patience for this day was wearing thin. Strike that, my patience for this whole ordeal was. Ten years of patience.

"Well, she is headstrong, moody, clumsy, and curious, and she has a temper. Who could that possibly be?" he was forcing down a laugh, I could hear the strain in his words. "Who else could that possibly be but you, my friend?"

It was my turn to force down a laugh, although a quite mirthless one. "You must be joking. I am nothing like that woman. And I am certainly not your friend."

Jacoby gave a guffaw. "At least she isn't as arrogant and shortsighted."

"Arrogant? Shortsighted?" I scoffed, my volume raising. "And clumsy? When in my life have I ever been clumsy?"

"Be quiet! We are still in their home! If I had a nickel," he mumbled under his breath, his voice still tinged with humor that I did not share. I was nothing like that irritable woman whose only job in life seemed to puzzle me to no end. It was infuriating.

"Clumsy," I growled. Jacoby laughed.

"Mr. Jacoby, Mr. Laurent?" the Giry woman called to get our attention. "I am terribly sorry for that little incident. Christine apologizes but she won't see anyone right now."

I gritted my teeth. Who does she think she is, refusing her supervising officer the right to just do his job and get it done with?

"Miss, I assure you it is quite urgent," Jacoby tried to placate, but she cut him off with abrasiveness.

"Believe me, I tried to get her to come out here, but she won't budge," she explained with a hint of bitterness in her tone, leading me to believe that Christine had said something to upset her in some way, which did not surprise me in the slightest. "Why don't you both join us for dinner tonight? She may be in a better mood then," she suggested. Her politeness was commendable, but hell itself would freeze over before I found myself in that situation.

I opened my mouth to refuse when I heard Jacoby say, "We would be delighted to." I whipped my head around and bore my eyes into him. _Confound his manners! Confound it all!_ I wanted to shout.

He returned the hard stare and shook his head imperceptibly. I clenched my jaw even harder to prevent myself from screaming my lungs out at him. I could have strangled him, too, were it not for the fact that he continued to engage the young woman in conversation.

"What time would be suitable for yourself and Miss Daae?" he asked.

Her shoulders drooped slightly, as if relieved, and she replied, but I took little notice. My thoughts were all that consumed me.

First, Jacoby says that I have qualities in common with that woman, qualities that I condemned, no less, and now I was scheduled to have dinner with her and her friend. Heaven knows I am no saint, I have more blood on my hands than most people had running through their veins, but a simple dinner in a simple house with three despicably confounding people had me running for cover, which succeeded in making me even angrier. This whole ordeal was a vicious cycle I was looking for every opportunity to break.

Come hell or high water, this would be the last time I would ever see that exhuming wretch again, I promised myself. I wasn't sure I could handle it, regardless.

 _Leave a comment if you would like a sneak peek in your DM's of the next chapter! I won't be posting for a while, so take the chance while you have it! As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. Have a splendid day! -Em_


	5. Chapter 5: Unexpected Homicidal Guests

_Alright! Two chapters in one day after a lifetime of nothing! I realized that last one was on the short side, so I thought it was an extra surprise to give you a two-for-one. Find out what has Meg so upset-oh, and enjoy all the questions you will ask yourself after the end of this chapter [evil laughter ensues] -Em_

Christine's POV

How much more liquid could my body expel through tears? As soon as I slammed the door, embarrassment pricked my eyes like needles and my body cried out for sleep. Now I knew that they wanted nothing to do with me. The contempt in Erik's eyes ran me through like an arrow, and pulling it out was no less pleasant. With that, I flopped gracelessly—and face first—onto the bed, and sobbed.

I heard the door creak open, but I did not move or even acknowledge it.

"Here's your coffee," I heard Meg announce, pity racking her voice thoroughly. Groaning, I sat up, tucked my knees to my chest, and reached for the mug, my cold skin absorbing the warmth from the ceramic. Meg meandered over to me and sat beside my huddled knees. "Chris, are you okay?" she asked carefully.

"Define okay," I mumbled, sipping little divots of the caffeine and keeping my stare resolved in space. The morning light was spilling through the blinds, and I trudged over to open them, hoping that the extra warmth would take effect on me, and directly returned to my fetal position on the unmade bed. What I wouldn't give to look out the window and see Sweden.

Meg rubbed my back affectionately. "Are you okay enough to help me make breakfast?" she asked, leaning forward and searching for my face within my curtain of hair. "I know you like cooking. Maybe it will cheer you up a smidge."

I lifted my head to her. "Only if we make something ridiculously unhealthy, because my appetite is compromised," I replied, and her following grin was infectious and I found a genuine smile breaking onto my face. That is, until I realized that Erik and Nadir were still in our living room.

"What are we going to do about…?" I trailed off, hoping Meg would catch my meaning.

She got up next to me, her elbows in my lap and her head resting on her palms with brightness in her expression. Her constant mirth would be a welcome sight during this roller coaster of emotion. "I think I can just tell 'em to scram, but would you be okay if I invited them to dinner? He is CIA, you know. You can't avoid him forever."

I grunted. "Who said I was avoiding him?"

Meg let out a blunt laugh. "You could see the frustration boiling off the both of you."

I bit back more tears. If it was apparent to the entire audience of my clumsy episode, I might as well have announced it to the world. Meg seemed to realize the effect of her words and quickly added, "It was mostly him, but I know you so well I—"

"What do you mean, mostly him?" I questioned, hurt at his apparent obviousness. How could she understand him so well, but I could not tell his emotions apart from that of a potted plant?

"Well, it was just that—"

"He was looking at me like a helpless child hanging from his sleeve," I finished for her, my head pounding from the absence of tears. I saw a brief flicker of the same unwanted pity in Meg's eyes and blurted the next few words in my hurt. "It seems he is not the only one." I averted my gaze, immediately regretting my blame I'd thrown, but too stubborn to let it go. It was very unlike Meg to let her aversion be known, much less feel aversion in the first place.

Meg did not reply for a few moments. "I'm going to go let our guests out before they do it themselves. I do not want them to think you helpless," she spoke sadly, regret dripping from her voice. I could not decide whether it was for her words or for mine. My eyes followed her as she stalked droopily out the door, shutting it behind her. I flopped on my back and stared up at the ceiling, wishing desperately that my eyes would stop flooding, but every time I closed them all I could see was Mary.

A few minutes passed. I did not do much except weep, and when Meg reentered I hardly noticed.

"Hey," she said, peeking in slowly, and when I finally rolled up groggily with a swollen, damp face, she took that as permission to continue and gently sat and stroked my hair. "I am so sorry." There was a hitch in her voice, something I heard from the naturally sprightly girl very little.

I sighed, hiccupped with tears. "It is fine, Meg."

"No, it's not." She turned and regarded me with misty eyes, another rarity. "You know I would never mean to upset you."

I gave her a weak smile. "I know."

Meg, brightening to her usual self, winked and offered, "Want to go make the famous Giry recipe for cinnamon waffles?"

"Is it fattening?" I asked, wiping my face, ready for a new form of escape. A memory surfaced of Mary baking me pastries when I was upset as a child, but I pushed it aside. I was thoroughly exhausted with letting the weight of loss drag my spirit down, although I was not altogether confident in my abilities to get rid of it.

Meg chuckled lightly. "You bet it is."

"Sounds perfect."

Eriks POV

"Get down!" I roared, throwing my body in the doorway of the house before Christine or Meg could comprehend what was about to happen. I drew my gun from its holster and peppered beads at the men pouring from the intruding vehicle. Out of my peripheral I saw Jacoby press himself flat against the house and do the same. They were wearing heavy body armor, and the shots slowed them down but did not stop them. My heart pounded as I leapt out of the house, yanked Jacoby behind me and back into the house in a matter of seconds. I slammed the door shut to see both girls crouching on the floor.

"Go! Get up! Go!" I ordered, Jacoby grabbing Meg and I Christine and hauling them into the middle of the home where it would be most fortified. We were all breathing heavily as we clambered into a hallway bathroom.

Christine was the first to speak. "What the hell is going on?" she was short of breath, her eyes wild and full of anguish.

I was silent with my grip still firmly around my gun. My nerves were hyperactive sensors for danger, shaking my body with tension. I couldn't stay still and my thoughts were jumping from every angle and corner of my mind. Jacoby gave me a stern look and I knew he was pleading with me to stay sane, but the situation was out of my control and the floodgates of bloodlust were coming unbuckled. No matter how hard I could deny it, I knew the only way to protect these three was to lose control, and that terrified me.

"Stay here," I commanded, running out of the room and leaving them behind. Jacoby tried to protest, but no use. My ears rang, my heart pumped, every muscle in my body itching for a fight. I could hear him yelling frantically, but the only sound I could hear were the footsteps bursting into the house. A breath of tension escaped me and the walls finally broke free.

The first man around the corner didn't have the chance to call out before a shot landed in his throat and he dropped to the ground. Two more noticed my presence but received the same fate, one falling on top of the other, so I advanced further and flattened against the wall, awaiting those who would inevitably respond to the sound of gunshots and come running. Shouting voices came nearer, rounding the corner with careless speed. I grabbed an arm and slammed the butt of my gun into the temple of the person attached, using him as cover for the spray of gunfire his companion let loose and let two of my own find their target in his flesh. Two more down and an empty clip, I thought as I rounded the corner and immediately three men were upon me. I managed to dodge the bullet of one by kicking the legs to my left and right out from underneath, and by then I was close enough to the second to grab his skull and shatter it into my knee repeatedly. Naturally he dropped his gun, which I picked up and fired into the other two's eye sockets with seamless precision.

Echoes of the last two shots took forever to die against the wall of the home—or perhaps it was just my ears pounding from adrenaline. Either way, it took me several moments to realize the gravity of what I had done. It had been years since I had experienced the fury flow through me like this, and longer still since I caused similar amounts of carnage without feeling the consequence. But what good was feeling remorse when no amount of guilt could turn back time?

Suddenly exhausted, I stumbled back towards the hiding space and was met with Jacoby's stare containing several different emotions. I could hear faint crying coming from the girls.

"Erik, what have you done?" Jacoby whispered with slight horror. He brushed past me and gasped at the carnage I'd left in my wake. His reaction didn't help the miserable feeling broiling in me. He turned back to me after he'd regained some decorum. "Take Christine," he ordered, looking me directly in the eye. "Get her out of here. There is no doubt in my mind that these men are from Cameron. I'm calling Richards."

The miserable feeling grew ever still as I recalled the events from earlier today at The Bronze, the club Cameron Daniels owned. I didn't respond verbally to Nadir, only giving a curt nod and rushing back to the frightened women. Immediately Christine began questioning me, tears soaking her face and hair, resembling much of the spitfire he'd seen that morning in the interrogation room.

"What the hell is going on? Why were there men here?" she panted furiously, pointing her finger in my face. "You said it would be safe here. You and Nadir both said this would be a painless process so who in the hell sent those men here?"

I swatted her hand away without answering her questions and addressed the both of them. "The authorities are on their way. Meg, go find Jacoby. They'll want the homeowner present. Christine, come with me."

Meg skidded out of the room, but Christine refused to budge. "There is no damn way I am leaving with you."

I challenged her, stepping directly to her and over her. "I'm your supervising officer, Miss Daae. You don't have a choice."

Her eyes grew wide at this information. "You? You are my supervising officer?"

I swore I could've strangled her for causing so much frustration. Without any hesitation I simply grabbed her by the arm and forced her out of the room with me, trying to disregard the sensation of her skin on mine. She let out a few yells and tried to wriggle out of my grip uselessly, but it did inconvenience the ease at which this could have been accomplished had she been compliant with her SO.

"Christine!" I roared, effectively silencing her efforts. "You are no longer safe here. Either you come with me now, or you risk the lives of both Miss Giry and Mr. Jacoby ever spare minute you stay here."

Clear blue eyes regarded me with distrust and I could see how much a toll this entire ordeal weighed on every ounce of her being. Her shoulders sagged, her face was tearstained, and her skin was noticeably pale. Had she not looked so tired, she might have stunned him again, just like before. "Okay. Let us go."

I let go of her arm, which I could not decide fortunate for reasons I'd rather not explore and we walked out of the house towards the black sedan in the driveway. I noticed that the car which deposited the invaders only minutes before was gone, and that meant at least one had escaped their encounter with death.

Once both doors were shut and the engine started, Christine spoke again. "Who were those men, Mr. Laurent?"

I hesitated as I backed the car out and headed in the direction of my apartment. Jacoby had warned me that there was only so much heartbreak women could take, and adding the details of her ex-brother-in-law's whereabouts would only make her already broken heart much worse. But a single look into her eyes stirred a compassion that overtook me.

"Jacoby and I have reason to believe they were sent by Cameron Daniels," I told her. She covered her mouth with both hands and closed her eyes and her breath came sudden and irregular. "We also have reason to believe he is working for the same person that killed your sister."

 _What happened when Erik and Nadir went to investigate Cameron Daniels? And will Christine throw up again at the news?! Stay tuned! -Em_


End file.
